


Little Hawk

by sweptaway



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Drowning, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mildly Dubious Consent, mentions of Snow and his ~lovers~ but not enough to count, nothing's too incredibly graphic but trigger warnings are always necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweptaway/pseuds/sweptaway
Summary: the first time finnick realizes he loves her, it feels more like heartbreak.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Little Hawk

Finnick didn’t watch her very often. He didn’t like watching people so directly at all. He too easily spaced out, too easily looked like he was staring.

Mostly that’s because he **_is_ ** staring. His tendencies to doze off while fully conscious is far too often- his father says he could look someone in the eye and still miss everything that’s being said to him. He has a busy mind, Finnick knows that much about himself. But he also knows he listens when he’s supposed to, he soaks things up very well-- thank you very much.

However, right now? He’s thinking about absolutely nothing despite the fact that he  **_should_ ** be focusing.

No, no, he  **_is_ ** focusing. He’s supposed to be cleaning up the dock, that’s what he promised his father, that’s the task he’d complete.

But then he catches Annie in the corner of his eye and he can’t help but watch her.

She’s not near him at all, she’s  **_dancing_ ** , by her father’s boat.  
In 4, there’s quite a bit of dancing. Not too much to distract them from their work, but there’s community and warmth, there’s a sense of everyone knowing each other, it feels far too safe for the world they live in. But something about the way that Annie dances is different. It’s some kind of peace that he can’t quite place. It stops his thoughts from racing to a point where everything feels absolutely silent except for the ocean and the bits of singing he can hear from her. It’s such a rarity for everything, including his head, to just be quiet.

He’s cleaning, he swears. He dumps his bucket out, old saltwater they’d used earlier going back into the sea, far enough down that it - unfortunately - didn’t splash him. He could gather the knives and nets him and his father used for fishing, he could focus on that. But Annie kept calling to him.

Finnick’s only 14, but he’s fairly certain this is the closest thing to a trance he’ll ever know. He’s so drawn into her, to the girl he knows a bit from school, a bit from classmates, a bit from her boldly taking his hand at random points or making him flower crowns and jumping up to get them situated on him, a bit from everywhere, he supposes.  
She’s different. There’s something about her that intrigues him, draws him in. He wants to be her friend, he’s sure of that.  **_But_ ** , how many friends could a Career child have? Isn’t that just unpleasant for someone like Annie, who’s always been so gentle that even  **_fishing_ ** is enough to upset her? How good of friends could she be with someone who plans to volunteer, to purposefully step into the Hunger Games, at 16?

It doesn’t bother him. He just wants to watch her. He slowly turns his head back down to rearranging knives and tools into their box, humming a bit to himself when he’s picked up the tone she carries. He doesn’t entirely realize he’s doing it, and when he  **_does_ ** , he swallows and smiles and remains quiet again.

Of course, peace didn’t last for forever. It wasn’t long before -- apparently -- Annie lost her grip or footing or whichever and fell into the water. There was no more singing, only a concerning amount of silence.

Then splashing.

Finnick knew through Annie’s sister, Natalia, that Annie is / not / a swimmer, and she never has been. Natalia was a Career, she trained at the schools there with Finnick, he trusts her and her opinion, especially on her  **_sister_ ** .  
He waits. Surely, the water’s not too deep. Surely, she’ll grab up on something, figure it out, she’ll be fine.

But it  **_is_ ** too deep, she doesn’t reach up, she’s not safe at all.

It’s then that he jumped in to drag her to shore, it’s then that he forces the air back into her lungs, gets her breathing again. Life hadn’t left her, she was fine, he helped her sit up, he waited with her until help came and their respective parents whisked them off.

Too gentle Annie. Gentle, funny, light-hearted Annie.

He supposed there was always a certain feeling towards her. Intrigue, he guessed for the longest time. She was intriguing and he was enthralled, he wanted to soak it up as much as he could.

He wanted to be her friend, that’s how it started.

And now he stood up at the ceiling, thinking about flower crowns and holding hands and kisses on his neck and falling asleep beside her, leaning over on her or being leaned on, with his hand just  **_a bit_ ** under her clothes, just to feel the warmth of her skin and the mutual closeness of contact. Innocent, her eyes bright, still trusting him.  
He thought about their falling off. How she called him cruel for “stringing people along”, for his visits in the Capitol, for how he hurt her for sleeping with the mayor’s daughter. Of course he couldn’t tell her why. He hated himself for it, he hated how his life revolved around lies and secrets and becoming anything but what someone as wonderful as Annie deserves

Finnick stares up at the ceiling. If he didn’t know these buildings like the back of his hand, he’d have some personal debate with him on if the ceiling and walls are white or grey, he’d be able to focus on how the blankets feel, how the air smells( cold, stale, nothing like home ), or  **_anything_ ** that wasn’t his swirling thoughts. But he couldn’t tune into any of that without reminding himself that he  **_does_ ** know it here. That at times he thinks he knows the Capitol better than 4 itself. That any time he thinks it’s  **_safe_ ** to be with Annie, to be affectionate in the gentlest ways - in public - it’s ripped away from him. He’s been hurt, she gets hurt. She gets hurt in ways she shouldn’t even be involved with, he hates it.

It’s not worth it. Nothing is worth putting her through all of this. Nothing is worth fighting, and detachment, and having to mentor her through that fight that there’s been no settling down from. It happened too soon, and now he led her off to what could very well be her end.

His stomach sunk and he turned on his side, tightening the blanket around him, a fist in the thick fabric which stayed right underneath his chin.  
He had to sleep, he couldn’t be thinking about this all. He had to sleep, so he can wake up, so he can mentor and assure Annie had sponsors, Annie has gifts, Annie has medicines and food and will stay alive longer than anyone guessed. She’d make it out alive. She’d come back to him.

But  **_what exactly_ ** is it that he wants to come from her returning?  
Finnick wants her alive because she deserves to be alive. She deserves to live a good life. She deserved to life how free she was before meeting him. And that hurt. He wants her alive, that’s all.

Or is it something more selfish? Is there something beyond that?

He groans, sits up, holds his head down against propped up knees.

It’s not fair to be worried about how she’ll see him after this. It’s not fair to view her so much more important than the other tributes he’s brought up. It’s not fair to see this as anything but normal, just another time in the games, just another unlucky name called. That it’s not  **_his_ ** fault, that it’s not for any reason.

But he knew he couldn’t view it like that. That’d be ignorant, naive, and stupid.  
Finnick knows it’s his fault, he couldn’t have been more explicitly told. He was too faithful in his freedom. He was stupid, he  **_chose_ ** to go to bed with women who didn’t pay him. Those he met at parties, who felt warmer and more trustworthy than the people who were more than willing to pay some exorbitant amount of money to get their hands on him, like there was maybe the chance that they saw him any bit more human than he was anymore.

It was a bad call.

He grabbed his pillow from behind himself and held it over his head, squeezing it until he couldn’t hear anything but his heart in his ears.

He was told blatantly that he was harming himself by believing he had any choice in who he saw. It tainted his image, it could ruin the hefty price over him, it could cost the president more money than it’s worth.  
And it  **_wasn’t_ ** worth it. Every time he slept with people who he chose, the night ended with guilt so thick he could’ve thrown up. He was supposed to be waiting for Annie. He was supposed to save some sort of himself for  **_her_ ** , that’s what he was firm about. They’d gotten closer before his send off back to the Capitol, he had hope that one day-- as they were taking things  **_slow_ ** \-- they’d have something real.

He ruined it. He took part in ruining himself. It was his fault. And it’s his fault Annie’s in here.

Finnick knew the price of disrespecting President Snow.

He rocks himself, tightening his fist in the pillowcase against his head.

The Capitol - as always - knew more about Finnick than even he knew. The president saw him transparently, far more than he could ever imagine. His bond to Annie growing tighter, firmer, closer, was so amusingly obvious to Snow, and even Finnick could see that in his eye.

He was falling in love with Annie. Everyone knew it before he did. He was so  **_stupid_ ** , he should’ve known it would happen, he should’ve been smarter.  
The realization made tears flood his eyes, his heart ache, and his grip loosen as his hands shook. He forced her into this, it’s not fair of him to have this reaction. It hurts more than anything he’s known. It hurts more than the murders he’s committed, more than losing his virginity, more than  **_desperately_ ** trying to make this pattern stop-- if he just wasn’t so  **_fucking_ ** pretty anymore, if he could get rid of it, if he could rip and shred it away, scratch and tear his face until it was unrecognizable.

This hurt substantially more than that. Some hollow kind of pain. A thick, raw hole in his chest that Finnick knows he can’t fill, no matter how Annie comes out of her games.

She’ll come out alive. He’ll have to let her go.

A proper, loud sob fell past his lips, and Finnick found it only suitable to move. To curl into a ball and try to muffle the cries that only grew harsher and more frequent. If he could fold in on himself enough, it wouldn’t be heard. He hated crying, but he couldn’t stop.

If Annie was here, she would hold him. Or maybe she’d lean on his shoulder, she’d hold his hand and wait for him to speak on what was upsetting him. And if only silence met her, she’d let it stay at exactly that.  
If Annie was here, if she was safe, he would feel better. He’d feel overwhelmingly warm, with some indisputable urge to kiss her, maybe cover her face and neck in short pecks that he knew would make her laugh. Her laugh, the most beautiful thing; honest, inviting, open, floaty-- like if he closed his eyes, it’d feel like he was on a cloud.

But he didn’t have that. He didn’t have any soft lips or careful hands guiding him to hold her hip. There was no room for silly slip-ups that they could giggle over. There was no watching her face so closely that he could see every micro-expression, hear even the tiniest of noises break out. There was  **_no Annie_ ** , simply the too fond memory of her touch and voice that only makes him harder. And he shouldn’t expect her to put him back together, especially over something like this.

It’s not right of him to consider all these things when they hadn’t even had their first kiss( on the mouth ). When the first quarter of her being in the Capitol, she was silent or cold to him, obviously and reasonably upset. Or to consider all of these things when Annie’s in the arena, and who knows what will come of that?

He’s very sure that absolutely nothing could hurt worse than loving her, so sudden it felt like drowning. It filled his lungs, it overwhelmed him, it swelled his heart with each breath he took, it burned his face and blinded his eyes. It blurred every line that he swore had been clear this whole time.  
He’s in love with Annie. She’s always seemed to know how she feels about him. Why couldn’t he just return that with the same ease? Annie only deserved to be with someone who could reciprocate her certainty, someone who knew from the start that she’d be the one.

Annie deserves absolutely anyone who  **_wasn’t_ ** Finnick.


End file.
